


don’t kiss me goodbye

by tsunderestorm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: A voice tells Sylvainif you don’t do it now, you won’t get another chance.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 154





	don’t kiss me goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jyonzu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyonzu/gifts).



> I requested some prompts on my [twitter](twtter.com/tsunderestorm) and Jo asked for sylvix and the prompt "you’re leaving for something dangerous and i can’t help but kiss you". Enjoy, Jo!

Felix’s silhouette in the entry of the monastery stables strikes him with a sense of finality, something Sylvain cannot live with. An exclamation point, straight and abrupt when all he wants to see is commas; an endless string of run-on memories blending into one another, never-ending. A lifetime with Felix.

“Oh, Sylvain,” he says when he notices he’s not alone, retracting the hand that’s treating his horse to a calming pat on its face. 

“I’m riding out for Fraldarius territory,” Felix announces when Sylvain says nothing in response, briskly adjusting the saddlebags and re-situating his sword belt. With a scowl that could sink a man to his knees he scoffs, “I’m sure my old man is positively _thrilled_ that he gets to send me off to war for Dimitri, too. Anyways, I’m leaving soon, and you probably should, too. I know the Margrave sent you a letter.”

He huffs out a breath to lift a few errant strands of hair from his face, lips curving into a pout. Sylvain’s perception of the world narrows to the two of them; to his mouth and its relative distance to Felix’s lips, to the earthy taste of this morning’s Almyran pine that he knows he’ll find just past them on his tongue. A voice tells Sylvain _if you don’t do it now, you won’t get another chance_. 

The voice that calls out, “Hey, Fe?” doesn’t sound like his own. It’s someone else’s, someone whose blood doesn’t run cold as a northern winter at the thought of his own vulnerability, someone who doesn’t spend his time lying to himself. Someone who is finally ready to accept the fact that every inch of naked skin he feels in the dark can’t slake the hunger for his best friend and that each time he closes his eyes to a kiss, it’s Felix Hugo’s chapped lips and sharp tongue he’s imagining. 

“What if…” he starts, but unfamiliar worry steals the breath from his lungs. _What if I never see you again? What if Imperial sympathizers catch you on the road up to home and it’s too much, even for you? What if you die bloody and broken beneath a teal-colored banner because your blood and your name and your Crest says you should? What if I never get to truly **love you**?_

He swallows all of these questions back like bitter pills and offers Felix a diluted, less pathetic explanation of his fears. Isn’t that what he always does? Brush all of his fears under the rug and stand on top of it so no one else has to see the mess? Laugh to cut the tension, break someone’s heart and chip a little more of his own off in the process? 

“... what if it’s a long time before I see you again?” 

“Are you dumb?” Felix asks, staring at him. “You must be, if you’re asking me stupid questions like that. Fraldarius and Gautier have always fought side by side for Faerghus. If it’s to be war, then we’ll be right beside each other. It’s just going to take time to call the banners and find out who’s really on our side, and then we’ll-”

Before he can register that his heart is guiding his hands (and for once, he’s letting it) he’s fisting them in Felix’s collar and tugging him closer and kissing him, really _kissing him_ , tongue and teeth and desperation and _please don’t fucking die before I can finally get to love you_. It’s not that he’s scared of dying - really, he’s always resigned himself to the fact that he’ll die before his time for a cause he doesn’t believe in, but he’s not about to break a pinkie promise and he’s not about to let Felix walk away from him without telling him the words that have been on the tip of his tongue for moons and moons. The kiss becomes an embrace and then Felix is jumping up around his waist with his legs bracketing Sylvain’s hips and his hands are in Sylvain’s hair and the press of his tongue past the guarded gates of Felix’s lips feels like jumping into a half-frozen lake in the middle of a bitter Faerghus winter only to jump in the hot springs a second later, a shock to his system that makes his stomach flop and lungs gasp for air. 

It’s perfect, and then Felix’s teeth are nipping at Sylvain’s bottom lip and then wait, fuck, shit, _ow_ , they’re sinking in _hard_ and Sylvain is pulling back because it’s everything he was afraid would happen if he ever _let go_ and kissed him, it’s rejection and it stings worse than any of his swords ever could.

“Why the _fuck_ would you kiss me like that?” Felix demands, looking down at him, heaving pants as he tries to register what in all of Fodlan is happening. 

Sylvain thinks _oh goddess, now I’ve done it, I’ve ruined the one good thing I had_ , and he mumbles out a weak, “Like what?”

“Like you’re never going to see me again?” It’s so very _un_ -Felix, so very antithetical to cut and dry, black and white, the dead are the dead and if you die that’s on you, Felix Hugo. “Like that was a kiss _goodbye_ or some shit?”

Sylvain laughs. It’s awkward, misplaced, and he knows it (he’s good at that - laughing when he shouldn’t) but it’s all he can do. He shifts Felix’s weight in the cradle of his arms, feels Felix’s grip tighten; one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hair. “I finally work up the guts to kiss you, and you’re mad not about the kiss, but about the kind of kiss it was?”

“Yes!” Felix huffs, flushing red. “Don’t kiss me like ‘goodbye’. Kiss me like… I don’t know, like ‘until next time’ or something.”

They’re going to war, he thinks, and there might not be a next time. But in Felix, there is optimism, there is a _maybe_ that Sylvain wants to cling to like a lifeline. 

“Fine, then,” Sylvain smiles as Felix’s hands clasp at the nape of his neck. “Wanna try again?”

“You’re insatiable,” Felix sighs, but the way he leans down in the hopes of meeting Sylvain’s mouth betrays his utter _lack_ of displeasure. 

Sylvain says softly, a plea for permission that Felix’s pouting lips grant to him better than words ever could, “Let me try again.” 

This time he’s walking Felix back until he’s pressed against a beam of the stable, glad for the extra support because it means he can get a hand at the nape of his neck, fingers moving through the silky hair that’s come free from its tie. This time it’s slower, tender, Felix’s hand coming to cradle Sylvain’s jaw, Sylvain’s hand clutching at the nape of his neck, his shoulders, his lower back with the scar from jumping into the lake as a kid. Felix isn’t surprised this time and he melts into it, letting Sylvain lead as it deepens again.

Felix brushes his thumb over Sylvain’s lips when they part, looking down at him like Sylvain is a fire and he’s freezing. “That’s better, Sylvain. Don’t ever kiss me ‘goodbye’ again.”


End file.
